


Sickchester Vol. 2

by Pineprin137



Series: Sickchester: The Complete Collection [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: A lot - Freeform, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Gore, Brothers, Caretaker Sam Winchester, Cas is such an angel, Dean comes up with a name for it obviously, Dean's hot, Extreme vomiting, Fever, Ghouls, Graphic Description of Corpses, Guardian Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Guilt, He watches over them, Heat Stroke, Hunters & Hunting, Hurt/Comfort, If they weren't going to Hell before..., Implied curse, Jess tries, Just a typical Friday night for the Winchesters, Kind of literally, Like way too hot, Minor Injuries, Naked Dean Winchester, Physically not mentally, Probably witches, Sam just wants his big brother to take care of him, Sick Character, Sick Dean Winchester, Sick Sam Winchester, Sickfic, Stanford Era (Supernatural), Stanford Student Sam Winchester, Stripping, Sweat, Those poor maids..., Vomiting, Weak Dean Winchester, Zombies, grave desecration, i couldn't decide, implied magic, stomach flu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:22:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23404456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pineprin137/pseuds/Pineprin137
Summary: From curses to illnesses, heat stroke, and exploding corpses, the Winchesters just can't seem to catch a break.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester
Series: Sickchester: The Complete Collection [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1683565
Comments: 3
Kudos: 57





	1. Out of Nowhere

The only sound in the motel room was the crinkle of yellowed pages as Sam flipped through the thick lore book on the table and the occasional tapping of the keys when Dean scrolled down the article page on his laptop. 

“Anything on your end?” Sam asked, ducking his head into his elbow to hide a wide yawn. 

Dean sighed and pulled his hands away from the computer to massage his stiff neck. “Not yet,” he replied. “Tell me again. What did she say came after her?” 

Sam leaned back in his chair. He and Dean had rolled into town two days ago after three young girls told their parents they were attacked by monsters. The first described it as a large brown bear with razor-sharp teeth, the second claimed it was an overgrown bunny with glowing red eyes, and the last… 

He glanced down at his notes, read the girl’s statement verbatim, “It was a puppy. A big ol’ puppy with long claws. He chased me through the park. Wouldn’t stop until I went and got Daddy.” 

Dean frowned in thought. “And Pops agreed with her? Clifford on steroids?” 

Sam smirked. “Well, more like Blues Clues than Clifford, but yeah.” 

He lowered his head to continue reading about imps, but his attention was abruptly pulled by the loud crash of Dean’s chair as his brother suddenly sprinted for the bathroom.

He pushed away from the table and hurried over to the bathroom door where loud retching could now be heard. He halted in the doorway, a little taken aback by the scene in front of him. 

Dean crouched in front of the toilet, vomit pouring from his mouth and nose, his hands clenching the seat so hard his knuckles were white. 

  
  


_ “Jesus…” _ Sam said as he entered the room and lowered himself to the floor next to his brother. “The hell did you eat, Dean?”

Almost fifteen minutes passed before there was finally a break in the sickness and Dean could manage to lift his head from the bowl. He panted heavily, the desperate gasps echoed in the small room. 

Sam kept one hand on his back, used his other to pull off some toilet paper and clean Dean’s mouth. 

“Dude… what the hell was that?” he asked, tossing the soiled tissue into the no-longer clear water and flushing. 

Dean collapsed against the dingy bathtub next to him. He burped sickly then grimaced and said, “Fuck if I know. Came out of nowhere… ” 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Dean struggling to catch his breath in between increasingly wetter burps while Sam watched him warily. When nothing more happened though, Sam got up and filled a small cup with water. 

He handed it to Dean who used it to rinse the awful taste from his mouth. “You think you’re done?” Sam asked. 

Dean shrugged, said grumpily, “I don’t know-- I didn’t feel sick before impersonating Linda Blair…” 

Sam chuckled softly and shook his head. “C’ mon, Mr. Dramatic, let’s get you to bed. It’ll be more comfortable than the bathroom floor.” 

“Fine.” 

They were about halfway to Dean’s bed when it happened again. One second he was fine and then-- 

The chunky brown liquid exploded out of him. And like before, he had no control once it started. It just kept erupting out of him, wave after wave spraying the bed and surrounding carpet. 

Sam could only stare in shock, disgust coloring his features as his brother continued to try and puke up his organs. 

The intensity of the purging was making Dean feel lightheaded. He fell to his knees in the middle of the floor, his hand groping at Sam’s leg to find purchase. 

Sam looked down and gasped, “ _ Dean! _ ” 

The sick man seemed to be fighting to keep conscious. Any lingering revulsion evaporated as he held Dean’s face in his hands, slapping his cheek lightly, calling his name repeatedly. 

“Hey! Hey, Dean! Hey, stay with me!” 

Dean barely managed to open his eyes, his head throbbing in time with his heartbeat. The taste in his mouth was absolutely revolting. He scraped his tongue against his teeth, then tried to spit but he was so exhausted all he managed to do was dribble bitter saliva down his chin. 

Sam used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe it off. He pulled Dean’s head to his chest. “It’s okay, Dean, I gotcha.”


	2. Stanford

Some days, Sam really regretted leaving Dean and Dad and moving to California. Sure, it was the perfect way to say ‘eff you’ to the hunter lifestyle and all of Dad’s ridiculous training, but at times like these, he wished he had his big brother.

Sam slowly, shakily rose from the bathroom floor then flushed the toilet before rinsing his mouth in the sink. He tried valiantly to take a small sip of water but had to spit it out when his nausea simply worsened. 

Stumbling out to the living room of his small apartment, he collapsed on the couch and pulled the blanket back up over his shivering body. He’d been fighting a rather nasty flu for the last three days and was completely exhausted. Jess had tried to come by several times-- even going so far as to leave a small container of homemade soup on the doormat-- but each time he told her he was fine. It wasn’t that he didn’t want comfort and sympathy, it was just that he didn’t want  _ hers _ . 

He picked up his phone off of the coffee table and read through Jess’s latest message before pulling up his contact list. Scrolling down, his thumb hovered over ‘D’. He wanted so desperately to call Dean. Part of him wondered if his brother would even pick up, but that was probably the fever talking. 

After a lifetime of being cared for by his big brother, just hearing Dean’s voice was usually enough to calm Sam down so he could sleep and right now, he could really use some sleep. 

But he’d walked out-- turned his back on Dad… _and Dean_. 

Sam hadn’t meant to desert Dean. He loved his brother more than anyone. They’d been each other’s only real support system during long days and even colder nights on the road, hungry and scared. 

But that night he hadn’t been thinking about Dean. He’d only been thinking about how the hell he could get away from Dad and his unending orders. It had taken Sam four days to realize what he’d given up by coming to Palo Alto. 

Another cramp clenched his insides and Sam grimaced as his mouth filled with sour saliva. He flung the blanket off and hurried back into the bathroom, falling to his knees, wishing for a brother he knew wouldn’t come. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is short and sweet because I'm currently working on a Stanford-Era chapter for another one of my fics and didn't want to use up all of my good ideas.


	3. Hot Stuff

“Dean, man, you alright over there?” Sam chuckled as his brother struggled to free his arm from his jacket while keeping the Impala steady on the road. 

Dean huffed, “I’m fine.” 

Several moments of amusing wing-flapping later, the offending garment came off and was tossed into the backseat. Then, he wiped the sweat from his forehead, cranked the A/C and rolled down the window-- Sam chose  _ not _ to point out that those two actions sort of cancel each other out. 

When Dean chucked his still-mostly-full coffee cup out the window after grimacing because it was too hot, Sam started to suspect something was definitely wrong. 

The foreboding feeling only intensified when Dean asked him, “Hey, we got any water in the cooler?” 

Giving his brother a concerned look, Sam shook his head. “Dude, all you ever pack is beer.” 

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, but you like that health food crap.” 

Sam sighed. “It’s not-- No, I don’t think we have any.” 

By the time the Winchesters pulled into the next gas station, Dean had shed his overshirt and moisture was now dampening his short hair. Sam walked into the shop to buy him some water while he headed to the men’s room. 

The cashier nodded at the basket full of water bottles and smiled. “Must be a hot one out there? This morning when I came in it was fairly nice, but if your basket is any indication, I may just melt when I walk out.” 

Sam looked up, startled. “Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, it is warm outside.” He’d been thinking back to the case, seeing if there was anything off about it that may explain Dean’s sudden heat intolerance. He couldn’t remember anything specific, though. As he walked back outside, he paid attention to the weather-- A little humid, but nowhere hot enough to make a person sweat so profusely. 

“Uh, Dean? What are you doing?” Sam asked, gaping at his half-naked brother. 

Dean tossed his jeans and t-shirt in the trunk then climbed into the passenger seat clad only in his boxers. He was panting heavily, his face glistening with perspiration as he fought to cool his body down. 

“Sammy, something’s wrong…” he said. He wiped a hand across his upper lip, grimacing when it came away wet. He’d already repeated the action three times since Sam came back out. He gestured to the bag in his hand. “Hand me one.” 

Sam quickly slid into the Impala. He dumped the contents of the bag on the seat between them. Dean snatched one and chugged half of it before dumping the rest on his head. It dripped down his bare back, seeping into his waistband but Dean barely felt it. 

“God, it feels like my skin is on fire…” He moaned, opening up a second bottle. This time, he drank the entire thing. Some of it escaped his mouth, streaming down his chin and neck. 

At a loss of what to do, Sam put the Impala in Drive and peeled out of the lot, racing toward home. 

“Hang on, Dean…!” Sam said as he helped Dean into the bunker. Dean barely made it three steps inside before he cried out in pain and stumbled toward the wall. He was gritting through his teeth now, unable to manage more than a breathy warning before he went limp. 

“Shit!” 

Sam ran down the hallway in the direction of the shower room. “CAS!” He had his head buried in the linen closet when the angel appeared. 

“Sam? Where’s Dean? What’s going on?” 

The frantic man chucked an armful of towels at him. “Soak those in lukewarm water!” 

“What? How am I--” 

Sam cut him off, too impatient to explain fully. “Turn the shower on, toss them in.” He headed back out the door. “Lukewarm, Cas!” 

Unsure why they would be wetting something that was meant to dry things off but concerned about the younger Winchester’s rising anxiety, Cas quickly threw the collection of terrycloth towels onto the shower floor then turned the water on. Remembering Sam’s warning about the temperature, he adjusted the knob so it was in the middle of the dial. 

Once they were thoroughly drenched, he gathered them up and went off to find Sam. 

“SAM!?” He called out, listening for any sign of either brother. He could feel them-- Sam’s fear, frustration, and helplessness and Dean’s agonizing pain, but he couldn’t figure out how to get to it. With limited access to his grace, he had no choice but to hurry through the hallways until he found them. 

“Shit! C’ mon, man! I need you with me so we can figure out what’s wrong!” Sam was kneeling behind Dean who had been turned onto his side. White froth dripped from the hunter’s mouth, his entire body convulsing on the hard concrete floor. 

“Sam!? What’s wrong with Dean? Why is he doing that?” Cas asked as he rushed over to the pair. 

“Thank God!” Sam said, relieved when he saw the dripping towels in Cas’s arms. He immediately began placing them over his brother’s body, hoping it would bring his temperature down. He didn’t need a thermometer to determine Dean’s body temp was way too high-- the reddish tinge to his skin as well as the seizure told him that.

“Hold him still,” Sam told Cas, crawling over to his brother’s feet. “He’s not going to like this.” 

Cas frowned. “What are you going to do?” 

“We need to elevate his legs, but first…” Sam reached underneath the towel covering Dean’s groin and hooked his fingers in the waistband of his underwear. He pulled the sodden material off, discarded it out of the way then carefully grabbed his brother’s ankles and lifted them onto his shoulders. 

As soon as he realized someone was holding onto him, Dean started to struggle. “... the hell? Get off! Wha’ are ya’ doin'?” He squinted, sought out familiar hazel eyes. 

“Dean! Relax… you’re okay. We’re home, alright? Cas is here, I’m here. You’re safe,” Sam said, attempting to soothe his brother’s confusion before it turned into all-out violence. 

He seemed to calm down after hearing Sam’s voice until his ass started going numb. He moved to prevent a sudden cramp from traveling down his leg-- he would probably end up kicking Sam in the mouth if it did. 

His eyes flew open, rage darkening them. 

_ “WHY AM I NAKED!?”  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As someone who has experienced heat stroke first-hand, let me just tell you-- It isn't fun.


	4. Salt and Burn

Sam was the first to gag, but Dean puked first. 

He stumbled away from the open grave to the nearest headstone. He held on to the granite tombstone, beer and partially digested pizza covering the grass at his feet. 

“You o--” Sam paused, gulping sickly, “You okay over there?” 

Dean didn’t turn around, instead, giving a thumbs up before he puked again. 

Sam didn’t blame him. As soon as he finished the incantation, he was going to be joining him. The putrid aroma of burning rotted meat mixed with the strong stench of kerosene was threatening to do him in. 

When he spoke the last word, Sam watched, horrified, as what remained of the body began to… bubble? 

“Oh shit…” He spun around and dove behind a gravestone, calling out to Dean, “ _ It’s Gonna Blow!”  _

Dean heard his brother’s warning. Cursing his luck, Dean ducked behind the stone he’d been using for stability, fresh vomit soaking into his jeans when he slid in the wet grass. “ _ Oh, gross…”  _

A loud boom shook the night. Each hunter covered their head with their arms, Dean going so far as to use his jacket as a shield. He would much rather have to make a pit stop at a laundromat than attempt to get torched zomboul out of his hair. 

Chunks of melted flesh rained down on the graves, bouquets of lilies and tulips marred by scorch marks, bloody remains splattering onto granite plaques set into the ground. 

When he could no longer hear wet splatters or the crackle of burning skin, Dean ventured out from his hiding place. He gulped. The cemetery looked like a set from the Walking Dead. Body parts were strewn all over the place, blood sprayed across the names of loved ones. 

He carefully picked his way towards Sam who was noisily imitating Dean from a few minutes ago. 

Dean walked around the obnoxiously large headstone Sam hid behind and grimaced. “Aw, Sammy…” His little brother was  _ covered  _ in zomboul. Dean doubted he would ever get those clothes clean-- they would probably have to burn them later. Hell, it’d be easier just to burn his own, too. 

He approached Sam and delicately placed a hand on his shoulder, gagging when something squished between his fingers. Luckily, he was already empty. 

“Just breathe, dude,” Dean said. He looked down in sympathy and immediately curled his lip in disgust. There were three large chunks of  _ something _ in his brother’s hair. Carefully pulling them free, Dean had a hard time with the last. Whatever it was felt almost rubbery, like a bouncy ball and there were these stupid stringy bits that refused to let go. 

With a final tug, what had been one of the corpse’s eyeballs popped loose. Dean gave a full-body shudder and shook his hand dramatically, flinging it into the distance. 

Unaware of what was happening with his tresses, Sam groaned and spat, trying to clear his mouth of the somewhat spicy aftertaste of meat lover’s pizza. “Well, that was gross,” he said, standing up. 

Dean smiled wryly. “You have no idea…” 

They looped their arms around each other, Sam over Dean’s shoulders while Dean hung on tightly to his waist. They limped toward the car in silence, both dreaming about hot showers and clothing bonfires. 

After laying down the emergency seat covers, i.e. old towels that had seen better days, they gingerly sat down, wincing at the pull of overused muscles and undiscovered bruises. 

Sam turned to Dean. “Next time we come across a zombi--" Dean cleared his throat. Sam sighed, "-- A _zomboul_ hunt, how about we call someone else to do it?” 

His brother gave a half-hearted snort before turning the key in the ignition. “Sounds good to me. If I never have to go through that again, it’ll be too soon. That fucker was stronger than he looked…” Dean said, rubbing his injured shoulder. 

“Not to mention the smell…” Sam added. 

Closing his eyes against the visceral memories his brother’s words brought up, Dean clenched Baby’s wheel and gagged. “Could you not?” 

Sam chuckled weakly. “Yeah. Sorry, man.” 

They drove for a little while before Dean spoke up again. 

“Hey, Sammy?” 

“Yeah, Dean?” 

Sam's big brother smirked. “Dibs on first shower.” 


End file.
